When Dad Came Home
by LADYND
Summary: Pre-series. We never found out what exactly happened to Dean when Sam ran off to Six Flags ... *TW:Abuse/Language*
1. Chapter 1 - Hey Boys!

He had been sat in a quiet panic for the most part of the day. There wasn't anything left he could do. Not without dad. He'd even asked around, someone offered to help Dean but he couldn't drag a civillian into this. They looked concerned so Dean just ran back to the motel.

He planned it out, he had a clean glass sat out for his dad and a bottle of scotch out and bought a bag of ice with the last of his food money. When he hears the Impala drive up he will jump up, poor a glass of scotch on the rocks. Just how his dad liked it.

When he heard the Impala and jumped up he almost fell. He was shaking. His chest was caught and he struggled to breath. But he ignored this and poured the glass anyway. The motel door was unlocked as Dean hit the bed.

John was tired but he had that small smile from a job well done.

"Hey boys," he mumbled, "That for me?"

He grinned as he sipped at the scotch and nodded to Dean for thanks,

"Where's Sam? In the can ..." Dean stared at his hands,"What's the matter?"

Dean shuffled uncomfortably and went to speak but his voice broke. John went straight to the bathroom calling for Sam as he opened the door. Empty.

"Where is Sam?" a beat passes with no reply,"Where is Sam? Dean!"

"I - don't know sir."

Both the Winchester's freeze; Dean in anticipation and John in shock. John suddenly bursts with anger.

"What the fuck do you mean _don't know?_" John throws the glass to the ground, Dean jumps,"Don't you -"

With a few long strides John is towering of Dean. He grabs Dean's shirt and pulls him up. With little resistance Dean follows his father's hand.

"You lost your brother?" John searches his son's expression,"Answer me!"

"Yes sir."

John's fist meets Dean's nose. Dean is on all fours, touching his face in shock as blood drops into his palm. John can't think straight - he's watching as his eldest son turns his large, green eyes to his face in fear. He cannot hold his own fathers gaze for more than moment, as Dean struggles up and begins to mumble, "I'm sorry Dad -", John suddenly stops caring. All his guilt for hitting Dean just leaves him. Sorry is not what he wanted to hear. Dean pulls himself up and his dad moves towards him.

"He is your responsibility Dean!" John walks to Dean who is now being cornered by his father,"Have you even bothered to look!"

"I tried," fumbles Dean as he feels the wall behind him and he cannot see a way around his father. He's trapped.

"Tried?" John pushes Dean with his full strength onto the wall, then his hand squeezes the bottom of Dean's throat. He doesn't hold back,accentuating each word with a squeeze of his hand and pushing Dean to the wall "You lost your fucking brother! And you just _tried_."

John's shouting and Dean hitting the wall could be heard in the car park.

"Dad -" Dean's voice cracks, the pressure on his throat makes it difficult for him to breath and the building tears don't help,"I'm sorry."

At that John pushes Dean to the ground. Dean doesn't fight back, he just let's himself fall. He lands on the smashed glass of scotch. John looks down with disgust. His hands tense into fists. He lets go and kicks Dean. In the gut. Twice before he realizes what he is doing.

John just leaves. He slams the motel door. Dean lies there for a moment. His eyes shut tight and not daring to move. His body ached and his nose and arm were bleeding. He couldn't breath. He wanted to cry out but he couldn't. He had not right to cry, not for himself at least.

Dean finally pulled himself up.

Dean was sat in the bathroom when he heard the motel door being unlocked. His nose had finally stopped bleeding, he could breath properly but his arm was not doing well. Contorting his arm to get a good look at it in the mirror wasn't helping - his stitching was sloppy at best and tiny specks of glass were still in the cut. The bathroom door opened and with it came a faint smell of a sleazy bar. Dean did not look at his dad.

"Has your nose stopped bleeding?" said John

"Yes sir."

Dean had stopped now and could feel his dad's presence. His dad's feet shuffled in the doorway.

"That cut isn't properly done," John now moved to Dean and took a hold of his arm. It took everything for Dean not to flinch so he just stared at the vodka, blood and glass in the sink. With no warning John yanked at the stitches, roughly pulling them out. John stuck his hand out and Dean put the tweezers in his hand. The tweezers poked at his wound and making warm blood begin dripping out. John was not careful. He splashed the cheap vodka on the cut and dried it quickly with paper. He then quickly stitched it up. The pain had reached the stage where Dean's arm was just numb and throbbing.

As John reached again for the vodka to clear the blood from his hasty stitching Dean finally looked at his father. He wish he hadn't. It was not dad looking at him. There was nothing but spite and bitterness - even through the haze of alcohol he could see it. John and Dean's eyes were locked for a moment. He just watched as he splashed the vodka on the wound. Dean could only look for a few second's before he couldn't face that _look_.

John then simply let go of the bottle. It smashed loudly. John stood up, walked out the bathroom but stopped in the doorway:

"Clean up your mess."


	2. Chapter 2 - Bloodied Sheets

When Dean woke up the next morning he didn't move, not for a good half hour. His sleep was more disturbed than usual - he randomly awoke from half remembered nightmares and as he tossed and turned he opened his wound. He felt the blood pool but he didn't want to tell his father. He had no idea how he would react after last night and he wanted to just clean it up before John could find it. After holding his breathe and listening for any movement Dean finally opened his eyes.

He was alone. He threw off his covers in relief. The blood has spread pretty far but was slightly dried; he hissed as he had to pill the puss and blood soaked sheet off his arm.

Dean first moved to the window. The Impala was not there. This could mean anything from a trip for brreakfast to not seeing him for another month. Dean couldn't help but wish he had at least said the usual goodbye, "Stay safe boys,"then he'd pat Dean on the shoulder and whisper, "Look after Sammy."

There was no Sam to look after right now, that's why he didn't say goodbye. As began began to busy himself like a manic housewife tidying the already oddly clean motel room and attempting to get rid of most of the blood he stopped as he found a small pile of dollars on the table. It would only be enough for a drink or two and a chocolate from the vending machine. Dad was coming home tomorrow morning or tonight at the earliest. He never left enough change.

For once in his life Dean let the maid in, but only briefly to pile the messed sheets in her arms and take the clean ones. He had - of course - taken the proper precautions. His shirt was buttoned to the top to cover the deep purple hand shaped bruise holding his collar bone and neck. The thumb poked out but Dean had no way to cover it.

He smiled at the old cleaner who greeted him, taking the sheets with a curious look behind him and at his neck. All Dean could think was how fortunate the other bruises where hidden from view. Monsters had a knack for hitting the body s it was always easy to hide supernatural injuries, but these human ones proved to be more obvious.

The elderly cleaner continued to walk past the young boy's motel room but stopped as soon as she was out of his view. She folded open the sheets and did not bother to stifle her gasp. The blood stain was wide and with cracked bits of pus hanging off it. She had been shuffling her way home last night when she heard John's shouting and dull thuds. She had not been the only. The owner of the motel had been patting the usual thin layer of sweat on his brow even more than usual when she told him about the noise, he'd manage to avoid any trouble up until now. The cleaner was duly ignored.

Dean surveyed the room. It'd be difficult to tell if the room was even occupied. Dean loosened his top button and sighed as it released the pressure on his bruise. He wanted to go see the damage he'd gotten, just to see how badly he messed up. He unbuttoned is shirt lower and pulled his collar aside - the bruise was a distinct hand print and already going a deep purple in areas. It was so clearly outlined. He carried on unbuttoning his shirt and opened it to look at his sides. Two fainter ovals with purple middles and fading edges were overlapping on his pale belly. Then he turned to look at the cut, he saw his back. His back had very faint bruises, then as Dean was about to turn around he saw it - the worst thing about the whole ordeal - sewn into his wound was a shard of glass. It was the cause of the oozing yellow liquid.


End file.
